Paper Heart
by browneyesonly4
Summary: After a getting shot, Tony loses his ability to walk. Slightly Tiva? Only rated-T for ONE swear word. One-shot.


_**A/N:** Wow, you just can't keep me from writing, huh? I've been toying with this idea for a while. Ever since seeing Michael Weatherly in **Dark Angel** as Logan Cale, confined to a wheelchair, pretty much dependant on the contraption, I've been unable to get the image of Tony in the same situation out of my head. So here it is...I hope you like it! I listened to **Paper Heart** by Tyler Ward when I was writing it, so if you wanna look it up, I highly suggest it! Love, Brown Eyes Only_

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**Paper Heart**

He woke up to a soft beeping that he assumed was from his alarm clock. It couldn't have been more than an hour, Tony thought, his eyes fluttering open. No, it couldn't have been more than an hour. He would just call Gibbs, blame this all on his neighbor, and go to work. All he had to do was get up, jump in the shower, and throw on a suit, and run down to the car. But his feet were so warm, and his head was propped at just the right way against his pillow…he tried to push the button on his alarm clock but couldn't find it.

Tony was growing rather irritated by the constant beeping. He also didn't care too much for the smell of astringent and cleaner. Had Ziva come over to clean? Had _Abby_ come over to clean? Who was there? Dammit! "Hello?" he tried to say, but his throat hurt too much, and besides, it didn't even sound like his voice. He hadn't a clue what exactly he'd said, but it wasn't anywhere near 'hello.' More like, 'Morose' or 'Fire hose', honestly.

_Well fudge!_

"Tony?" a female voice murmured, and Tony felt himself grin. He had a reason to oversleep. He'd had an exciting evening. "Gibbs," the voice said, growing distant, "Tony is awake."

"Zeev?" Tony warbled. "What're you guys doing in my apartment?" He tried to itch his leg with his other foot but his feet felt too heavy. In fact, he couldn't even feel the itch on his leg. He just had assumed it had been there, as it often was when Ziva was involved. He locked eyes with the probationary agent and offered a small, confused smile. "I overslept; I'm sorry I wasn't early to work this morning…"

There was fear on her face that transformed into sympathy. "Tony, that is the least of our worries."

"Well, glad to know I was missed."

Ziva shook her head and Gibbs walked in. "Look around, Tony. This isn't your apartment," he ordered, gesturing to the pictures on the walls. "Ziva's been with you since you were shot."

"I was shot?" Tony asked. He couldn't feel anything. In fact, that was kind of scary. He'd never not been able to feel anything. Even when his foot was asleep, he could feel his toes if he pinched them. So to not be able to feel them now, he wasn't pleased. Inside, he was a bit afraid of what that meant. "Where?"

His partner stepped forward and took his hand. "Lower back," she said. "The doctors…"

"What do they say?"

"They say you might have to take some time off from work," Gibbs barked. "Ziva's taking time off to take care of you. She's in charge." Tony glanced between the older man and Ziva several times before awkwardly agreeing. Gibbs curtly nodded at him and then swept from the room.

She stepped forward and sat in a chair that had been pulled close to the side of the bed. "Tony…"

Tony just grinned at her, covering his fear (or at least attempting to). "Go ahead, Zeev. Hit me."

Ziva took a deep breath and held his hand. "The bullet sheared your spinal cord, having been lodged between your T-12 and L-1 vertebrae," she explained slowly, recalling all of the information. He subconsciously squeezed her hand and she continued, "They are not sure if, with physical therapy, you would be able to reverse the paralysis…"

"I'm…paralyzed?" Tony choked out. "But that's impossible. I'm—I'm forty years old! No, I'm not even that. I'm thirty-nine. How can I be—Paralyzed? Are you sure?" Tears formed in both his eyes and Ziva's. She nodded slowly. "You can't be serious. This is some sort of sick joke." Tony made to get out of the bed but realized that he could only move from his waist up. "No, I can't be paralyzed."

His job was over. Hell, his life was over, for that matter. He'd never get married. He'd never have kids. He couldn't be an agent for anyone if he was confined to a wheelchair.

"I'm so sorry, Tony," Ziva said softly. "I cannot imagine how difficult this is for you…"

"No, you can't," Tony snapped, and at the flash of hurt in her eyes, he hung his head and held her hand tighter. "This isn't your fault." That was as close as he could get to apologizing, but it seemed to have sufficed. "How long was I asleep?"

"About a day and a half," she whispered. "We thought…" She was cut off with a gentle sigh. "We thought you were never _going_ to wake up."

Tony nodded, though confused. "So I'm a paraplegic," he murmured, and then laughed bitterly. "Well, fuck it."

Ziva just rested her forehead on the rail of the bed and let out a breath, her fingers still laced with his. "Your wheelchair is in the hall. The doctor said you can go home tomorrow," she mumbled.

"Have you not slept?" She shook her head. "Why not?" She shrugged. "Ziva, talk to me." She lifted her face to look at him and he saw all he needed to within those dark circles around her eyes and drawn expression. "We go through this together, right?"

"I suppose," Ziva murmured, "but you are the one who has to relearn, Tony, not I…" Tony nodded and laid his head back on the pillows, closing his eyes. "Sleep, Tony. You need your strength."

And sleep he did.

When Tony awoke, dinner was sitting in front of him (if you could call it 'dinner'). "Mm, dinner smoothies," he grumbled, and then caught sight of Ziva standing in the doorway, talking to a nurse. He tried to listen, but their tones were so hushed that he only caught a few words: 'therapy', 'never', 'walk'. And they scared him too much to talk, so he picked up his spoon and stirred purple puree that swam in his dish.

As he worked up the courage to try it, Ziva returned to his bedside and held up a slip of paper. "It says that for dinner, you have mixed vegetables, squash, mashed potatoes, and chicken with gravy." Tony gestured toward the purple mash and she chuckled. "Beets, for dessert."

"Great." Tony crinkled his nose and spooned some of the blended vegetables into his mouth. They we smooth, he could say that much for them. He felt like he was a baby again, forced to eat baby food from those stupid little glass jars.

Ziva was obviously trying to resist laughing. "How is it?"

"Um…" He swallowed. "I guess…it's okay." He always had liked beets, so he focused on eating those and the squash. And then, he tried them all together and he felt like it was pureed Thanksgiving. "Man, babies have the good life, yeah?" he joked cynically. "Feel free to pull out that BigMac any time, Zeev."

She shook her head. "Sorry, McGee ate it."

"Figures."

Ziva patted his hand. "Hey, you will get through this," she encouraged. "You are strong and independent and healthy. There is something to say for that."

"'To be said', not 'to say'," Tony corrected, and then cracked a smile, which was returned by his partner. "So, you said I could leave tomorrow?"

"Yes. McGee is coming to visit later so I will be going home then to pack some clothes for when we are at your apartment," Ziva explained. "And then I will be back."

Tony smirked and then jokingly pouted. "You're leaving me?"

"You will be in good hands."

He waved at her. "Yeah, yeah." Spooning more beets into his mouth, he pretended to chew. "Why's it all pureed?"

"You haven't eaten since the surgery, so they wanted to ease you into solid foods." Ziva laughed. "I told them you could handle it not-pureed, but they insisted on blending it…"

"All ends up in the same place, yeah?" Tony liked everything but the chicken and gravy. That was just disgusting. Nothing should be that consistency. Not meat, anyway. "Well, when I go home, can I have normal food?" Ziva nodded. "I take it you're cooking."

"They want a low sodium, low fat diet for you. High protein. So I was thinking Indian food would be perfect," she suggested. "Some curried chickpeas and lean beef hashwi should have you back on your feet in no time." Tony took in a sharp breath and she immediately regretted her words. "I…I am sorry. Wrong idiom…"

He shook his head. "It's fine. I have to deal with it."

Didn't take away the pain, though, and he was determined that yes: he _would_ be back on his feet soon.

"Well, this is a good workout for the old biceps," Tony chuckled, rolling down the corridor of his apartment. "Such a weird feeling." He was bitter, but he had long since decided that he would not show that side of himself to Ziva. "Thanks for staying with me."

Ziva nodded. "Sure, any time." She set the grocery bags on his counter and rolled her suitcase into his guestroom. "Hey, Tony?" He rolled himself in behind her, startling her when she turned around. "Don't do that! Ha ha, do you have any candles?"

"I maybe have one beeswax one from the last time you stayed over…is today the Shabbat or something?"

"No, I just like eating by candlelight," Ziva told him. "I love your apartment, though. I had forgotten what it looked like."

Tony smirked. "Well, then, you will just need to come over more often," he told her, and then backed out through the door and turned the wheelchair around. "I thought it would be more difficult to get used to this, but—"

"Do your legs hurt?" Ziva interrupted, approaching him.

Tony poked his thigh and shook his head. "Nope, I can't feel anything other than light pressure on my back, but I think that's from the gauze on the incision thingee. Hey, what are you—" Ziva crouched next to his wheelchair and lifted a hand to his cheek.

"Tony, you scared me," she admonished gently. "So much."

And then she kissed him. It wasn't too hard or too soft, but just a firm 'I care about you' kiss. And as soon as it was over, she was up and preparing dinner for the both of them as though it hadn't happened at all.

Because that was the goal. Creating a good life for Tony, a good, new life that would be fulfilling. Gibbs had been asking around about desk jobs somewhere in the building for him, so that he would at least be around his team. Ducky had Palmer researching paralysis and he himself was dedicated to analyzing his x-rays for any sign that Tony wouldn't be a paraplegic for the rest of his life. McGee had contacted some of his friends from MIT that had gone on to work on a Smart Prosthetic Chip that had been tested on veterans who had lost limbs. If they could fix one for Tony so that he could regain movement of his legs, Tim wanted to know about it.

And Vance was watching all of it as though it were some sort of _Lifetime_ movie. It piqued his interest that the team could focus on solving cases—even without two of their agents—_and_ work toward helping Tony return to work. He hoped for the best, as well, but after all that the kid had been through, The Director just wasn't sure it would work out.

But that's life, and life requires that we pick up and move on.


End file.
